We cats love NASCAR, especially my sister Charlotte.There was a time when she sat in front of TV and watched the race very intently.Sometimes she sat on a chair or a box and watched, sometimes she stood on her hind legs to get a closer look.

It’s not surprising that Charlotte likes NASCAR as she was named after one of the tracks.That’s right, the Sunday she joined this family as a small kitten, the drivers were set to race at Charlotte, so mom named her Charlotte.

Watching her watching the race was entertainment in itself.She would move her head as the cars went by, touch the TV screen in an attempt to grab one of the cars, and take a peek at either side of the TV to find out where the cars were coming from and where they were going.

Of course, at night, the cats in this family perform their own version of NASCAR.Sometimes Charlotte and Mickey are the racers; sometimes it’s Mickey and Gabriel; and sometimes all three of them have a go.

It starts off quite innocently.A game of patty cake, a swipe at the head or a grab and bite at a tail.One moment they’re playing, the next it’s a case of ‘Gentlemen, start your engines’ and they’re off.

During such a race it’s best that the humans stay out of their way because they race at top speed and cat paws don’t come equipped with breaks.They race from the living room to the bedroom and back again, jump on tables and leap over chairs.

The funniest of racers is Gabriel.He has a lot of fluff between the padding of his paws, causing him to lose his footing once in a while.Mickey and Charlotte who don’t have that fluff are able to take corners with amazing accuracy, but Gabriel frequently miscalculates a corner and goes flying.When this happens it’s quite funny.When he regains his composure he stands there with a dumb look on his face, wondering what the hell happened.

Me, I don’t take part in those races.The races on TV don’t interest me (if anything the zoom zoom of the cars puts me to sleep) and racing cats are of not much interest to me either.Why exhaust myself running around when I can curl up in a ball and sleep.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Today's guest blog post comes from Glory Lennon. Like other guest bloggers, mom met Glory on www.helium.com, a website for writers. In addition to writing articles, Glory also writes stories and blog posts. Meet up with Glory at http://www.helium.com/users/32782/show_articles

In the following, Glory shares her experience with Zebrina.

"What the heck is she doing?" the cat hissed. She glowered up at the human riding that noisy grass cutting contraption and told her, "You do realize you're inhibiting me from doing what I do best which is stalk my prey and pouncing on them until they die of fright."

The human, looking about as bright as the mole the cat had been about to snatch out of its hole, just stared back as if she'd never seen a predator before. Perhaps she hadn't, the cat mused. It might be wise to give this human a lesson on how the world runs in the country. This human had city slicker written all over her cute little designer shorts and tank top.

"Cats catch rodents around here, lady, and it ain't a pretty sight," the cat meowed but it was no use. This human was obviously not bilingual. Imagine such stupidity! And to top it all off she goes around cutting all this wonderful tall grass. What imbecile doesn't know this is the perfect cover for hiding and pursuing varmints?

"Well, what are you doing here? Are you lost, Kitty? Gosh, you are pretty, aren't you? You must be lost. Stray cats are never that pretty," the human said with an insipid smile on her face.

Kitty, did she say? How imaginative! The cat rolled her eyes to the sky. Shows how much this human knows! What in the world did beauty have to do with catching and killing field mice? The cat tried once more knowing it was futile but what else was she to do?

"Yes, human, I know I'm pretty but I'm also a trained killing machine so if you'll leave now I can get on with my work." She gave the human one more contemptuous look and turned back to her stalking.

"Guess you're hunting, huh?" the human said watching her.

"Duh," the cat meowed.

"Well, you can do that all you like. The moles are doing some awful digging in my flowerbeds. I could use a cat around here just as long as you stay outside," the human muttered as she turned the mower back on and left to cut the grass elsewhere.

The cat returned to her stalking but the mole had apparently burrowed itself in deep. Probably scared off by the noise. She shook her head, sighed and thought, "Humans....honestly! They don't even know the harm they do, do they?" Now thoroughly annoyed the cat sauntered off slinking through the tall grass in hopes of stumbling across another mole hole.

The cat didn't really want to return home. That horse farm was full at the moment, of cats unfortunately, not mice. If she wanted a meal she'd have to go where there wasn't as much competition and this field was ripe for the picking, or at least it had been before this human started destroying her hunting haven.

Not that it mattered. The cat knew of the human propensity to want rodents caught and yet they didn't seem to like it when cats eat them. What was the use of catching a meal, the cat wanted to know, if you're not going to at least take a nibble? What the heck is that about? She was certain she would never understand humans nor did she want to. Humans were highly overrated.

For a few hours the cat stuck around and did catch a scrawny looking mole and a tiny field mouse she found nibbling a fat, juicy strawberry in the fenced in place. She wasn't stuffed but it would have to do until she found something else to eat. Just as she turned towards the horse farm an enticing scent floated in the air. It was oddly familiar and yet the cat knew she had never smelled such a wonderful aroma before. Curious she sniffed the air and found it was coming from the human's house.

Of their own volition her paws took her to the smell and found to her horror that the human was not alone. She obviously had a mate and four kittens of her own. The cat knew that was far too many humans for her liking and yet that smell was too good to resist. She got closer and observed the crowd for a bit. They were a loud bunch all right!

The cat looked on totally baffled. Those human kittens looked old enough to be on their own and yet the human seemed intent on feeding them herself putting it right in front of them. How would they learn to catch their own food if the two humans just handed them food? Humans were just too weird.

"Hey, look! It's a cat!" shouted one of the human kittens. The shout made the cat jump back and she turned to leave until the human's mate threw a bit of food at her. It was that great-smelling stuff! The cat pounced on it as if it were a mouse fresh out of its hiding place.

"Please, do not throw my salmon at a stray cat," the human said to her mate with a note of disapproval in her voice.

"But he's hungry, mom," one of the human kittens said.

"It's just the skin," one said.

"He's so pretty," said another.

"Can we keep him?" the fourth one asked.

The human's mate threw a bit more fish to the cat and said, "Want some more, pretty Kitty? Come on up, we won't hurt you."

Wary, the cat stayed back but that fish smelled so good. It made her throw caution to the wind. It would only be one of her nine lives if they were luring her into a trap. She moved slowly toward the group but stopped just short of their reach. The human then placed a shiny sheet with some fish on it, most of it charred but it still smelled great. She approached slowly so as not to seem too eager then she pounced and ate all of it with the humans chattering nonsensically around her.

"She likes it, Mom!"

"It's salmon. Of course she likes it."

"Think she'll want to stay with us?"

"Whoa! No one said anything about getting another pet."

"Come on, Mom."

"You were complaining about mice eating your strawberries. Cat would take care of them."

" It won't be any trouble for you."

"Yeah, we'll take care of him."

"Oh, sure. I've heard that before. I'll end up having to do everything for that stupid thing and I don't like cats!"

"But look at him. He's beautiful! And so harmless. I doubt he'll cause much trouble."

The cat looked up then licking her chops appreciatively having just finished the best darn dinner she'd ever had. "Maybe there's hope for you humans yet," she meowed to them hoping the human kittens at least might understand.

"Look, he's saying thank you, Mom."

"He likes us," said one, slowly approaching with another tidbit of fish from his own plate.

The cat allowed a small petting from this creature in return for the yummy treat. When finished she looked up at all of them and purred, "Well, thanks for the fish. See ya 'round." She then hopped off the porch and ran across the yard darting into the trees.

For several weeks the cat returned every few days for a snack even allowing the human kittens a little scratch behind the ears. They even gave her a name after they figured out she wasn't a boy. Thankfully it was better than "Kitty" but not by much. Zebrina they called her because they said she had zebra stripes, whatever a zebra is. The cat now known as Zebrina rolled her eyes half disgusted, half grateful. It could have been worse, she supposed.

Then one day the weather turned nasty dipping temperatures down into the thirties.

Zebrina actually heard the human's mate say in a tentative voice, "It's not fit for man nor beast out there. Maybe we should let the cat stay for tonight?"

Zebrina saw the human give her mate the most contemptuous gaze she'd ever seen on a human. It was a most cat-like stare. Zebrina's respect for this human instantly grew tenfold. "There must be some cat in her," Zebrina meowed.

"See? She wants to stay and be warm. Let her stay, please?"

The human made a sound in her throat that sounded something between a growl and a hiss. "Wow! She is part cat. I like this human!" Zebrina meowed again.

"She's pleading with you. She won't be a bother," the human's mate said coaxingly, giving her a little cuddle and a nibble on her neck. Zebrina wondered if there was some cat in him too. He did have green cat eyes, she mused.

"Oh, all right! But only tonight. I'm sure she's got a home somewhere," the human said at last though she narrowed her eyes, wagged her finger and glared at Zebrina. "You better stay off my furniture and if you dare scratch anything I will personally skin you alive. Got me?"

"Oh, yeah," Zebrina purred as she curled contentedly into a ball at the human's feet. "She's definitely part cat. I'll have to keep her. I just hope she doesn't cause too much bother."

Thursday, July 28, 2011

I guess it’s safe to say that all cat owners know that we cats love boxes. Whether it’s the box a TV came in, or a shoebox, if it’s made out of cardboard, we’re in to it. I mean that literally.

For some cat owner this love for boxes is endearing, for others it’s a source of frustration. They buy fancy cat toys, only to find out that kittycat is more interested in the box than the actual toy.

As you can see from the pictures below, this cat family loves its boxes too.

Take a look at Charlotte ...

She was just a kitten when these pictures were taken. My goodness she was such a cutie back then. Well, she’s still cute, but her butt has grown several sizes. If she were to try that now ... hm, all I can say is, I feel sorry for the box.

Speaking of feeling sorry, the rest of us are no strangers to boxes either. I mean look at us and look at the boxes we’re trying to squeeze our bodies in ... those boxes are practically bursting at the seams. Do we care, no, for where there is a will there is a way.

Here is Charlie. What was he thinking?

And here's Mickey. Also with hopes and dream.

Next up, Gabriel, another optimist

Last but not least, me.

As you can see, I like a good box now and then too. It took some effort, but I managed. Sort of.

The morale of the story ... don’t bother buying us toys. Just buy yourself a cute new pair of shoes and give your cat the box.

Today's guest blogger is Mike Williams. Mike is the author of 'Snowed In'. If you're interested in this book, you will find the link to his Smashwords page at the end of this blog post.

Mike once had a cat called Skitter. Judging from his story, Skitter was quite an interesting feline.

Skitter was the smallest adult cat I've ever known. By most standards, he was about the size of a six month old kitten. Someone had a litter of all black kittens and my room mate and I decided to take one.

It didn't take long and we knew Skitter was different. He'd suddenly stand up on his hind legs and fight with invisible foes for minutes at a time. During the battle, you'd see him dodge and duck and box, crouch down and stalk and leap up to swipe at nothing. Then, just as suddenly as it started, he would sit down and lick his tail, looking as unperturbed as if he'd just awoken from a nap.

We would swear he could turn himself invisible. One minute he'd be there, the next he was gone and no amount of looking or calling for him would reveal his presence. He never disappeared when we were looking, you'd glance away and look back and there he was. Gone. Later, he would reappear in a "frantic room run."

A "frantic room run" started at any piece of furniture. He'd jump up on it and race at full speed around the room, using only the furniture as a traveling lane. That included the couch back, chairs (and anyone sitting in them), end tables and the fireplace mantle. There were two very long jumps, the first from the mantle to the next chair and from the chair after that to the couch top. Both jumps were more than six feet. Then he'd stop and lick a paw or his tail, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Skitter loved attention. I've never seen or known a cat that purred so easily. Reach down with one finger, scratch his ear twice and purrrrrrrr....

We played stretch the kitty, his favorite form of attention. He'd jump into your lap and roll over on his back. We'd grap his front paws in one hand, his back in the other and (gently) stretch him out to full length. Purrrr....

Pick him up, purrrrrrr...

He'd be happy to provide a neck massage. Just drape him over your neck and occasionally scratch his ear. Or his belly. Or his tail. Or anyplace you could reach. The purr motor would start and it was warm and fuzzy and felt like an ultra gentle massage. As long as you didn't move him, he'd continue to massage your neck with his purring.

We had to give Skitter up when my roommate and I moved in different directions. We gave him to a friend and he lived a long, happy life playing "Spirit fight", "stretch the kitty", "disappear on the owner" and "frantic room run".

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

There was a time that cats were allowed to walk and play outside. For a lot of cats things have changed. There are dangers everywhere, from fast moving cars to people with less than friendly intentions, and as a result people chose to keep their pets indoors. Just one of the dangers is related by Rex Trulove, our guest blogger for today.

Rex is one of mom's fellow Heliumites (a website where writers get paid to share their expertise by writing articles and stories). He tells the tale of Mokie. To learn more about Rex, please visit the link at the bottom of this blog post.

I love cats. When we moved into a new home, we didn't have any. My son managed to catch a gray tiger stripe, though it was so wild it hissed, bit and scratched him. We called her Mochus Lopes, Modoc Indian for "owl eyes" because her eyes were huge.

Mokie quickly adopted me. When I came home from work, she'd leap to my shoulder, where she would curl up and go to sleep, regardless of my movements.

Mokie grew bigger and learned to love everyone in the family. She also grew much friendlier to others. She didn't like cars, but she liked people, so we let her have free access to the outside in the summer. People would stop and pet her on the sidewalk. She loved the attention, naturally.

One late spring, Mokie didn't show up. She ALWAYS came home for her special dinner. We went out looking for her, but there was no sign of her. We alerted neighbors. Over the course of the next few weeks, there wasn't a time we went outside without calling for her and looking for her. It was as if she'd disappeared from the earth.

Spring turned to summer, then to fall. No sign of Mokie, though, the whole time. Even the neighbors were saddened, because she would go and say hello, before returning home. Everyone was fond of her.

By November, we knew we'd seen the last of her. Snows had begun to fall, and Mokie definitely didn't like snow. She couldn't even be coaxed into going outside if it was snowing.

On December 14, we prepared for bed as usual. We'd tried our best to forget about Mokie, because that brought tears. That night was special, though. We laid down and started to read our books, a nightly exercise, when there was a thump against the bedroom window. The curtains were open, and as I looked around, there was Mokie, snow flying around her and pawing to ask to get let inside.

Believe me, it took seconds to get the window open and to let her in!

She was skin and bones, as if she hadn't eaten in many days. She was shivering, and the pads of her paws were almost bloody. She'd come a long way, to get home. She also would not leave us alone. We fixed her food, but she wouldn't eat it until we brought it into the bedroom. Then she ate ravenously.

That night, she curled up right between us, purring loudly every time we moved. That was 16 years ago, but she still curls up between us, or on top of me, and purrs when we move. She won't go near strangers, though, and she hates cars.

All I can surmise, and this is a guess, is that someone picked her up out in front of our home, then transported her some distance to their home. They probably locked her in the house. One day, it was likely that someone left the door open a little to much, and she zapped out, then started the long trek home. Judging from her paws, it would have been in excess of 1000 miles, and I have no clue how she survived the trip.

She is currently laying on the back of the couch, right behind my wife, and is content. She just doesn't like visitors or cars.

Anyway, some cats are rather fond of seedlings. Ann gives some tips on how to avoid that. Could be interesting as some plants are poisonous to cats.

Start your seedlings. Make sure that they are in a sunny spot that does not get direct sunlight. I have a perfect spot in my bathroom. There is a large frosted window next to the garden tub. I put a small table in the tub and can move it easily when the tub is in use. The tub gets sun all afternoon. Absolutely perfect for seed germination. Also, absolutely perfect for the Cinnamon cat who likes to nap in the tub as well...Purrfect for an afternoon snack.

Until the true leaves appear, they cannot be moved outdoors. While some of the hardier plants can be planted outside, most plants like a more controlled start. The problem with indoor seedlings is cats. Dogs do not generally mess with the seedlings but for cats, ahhh, the elixir of life.

I've listed some methods to keep your seedlings safe until they are ready to harden off outside.

Supplies you need to have on hand to start seedlings

You will need supplies for whatever method you choose.

You will need carefully grown seedlings from expensive heirloom seeds.

You will need a cute adorable cat but that choice is up to you. We already had Cinnamon so the cat part was easy. If you don't have a cat yet but want to stop one from eating your seedlings, might I suggest your local animal shelter where they have many, cute, adorable cats.

I always use Miracle-Gro. I have yet to have a problem with it and I do think it helps.

If you have not tried these tomatoes, give them a try. They are huge and yummy.

Disclaimer

No cats were injured during the writing of this article. Cats will eat seedlings. It is up to you to take steps to prevent it. You can't get mad if your cat acts like a cat.

This is my list of suggestions

1Cover the plants. Some have suggested that a box makes a great cover. The plants are covered at night and uncovered in the morning. This is a great suggestion until you leave the house during the day and leave the seedlings to the cats mercy. Still pretty effective.

2I read a suggestion on the internet to soak a paper towel with ammonia and set it in the dirt. I haven't tried this but I could see it working.

3Chicken wire is a thought. I do not plant anything outside without digging a hole and lining it with chicken wire. This keeps the gophers out. (That should be another article about the gopher who ate my horseradish plants). Making a cage for the seedlings is something I am considering. I just have to figure out the cat weight to chicken wire strength ratio. Also need to take into consideration, the average cat reach from the sides and the top.

4One of the more obvious deterrents it to spray her with water. This works but I can't spend the next few weeks sitting in the bathtub.

5Another interesting suggestion I found while researching was to put banana peels on the soil. I chased the cat around with the banana peel and she doesn't like it so I may try this method too.

6Along the same line, cats are not fond of the smell of citrus or eucalyptus. Another thing to try if all else fails.

7The final suggestion I found was to sprinkle plain black pepper on the seedlings. Cinnamon does not like pepper on any of her food.

PJ is too lazy to eat the seedlings. He would have to get up and prefers his food at floor level.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

A couple of nights a week, the humans in this house have ice cream after dinner. Clever cat that he is, as soon as he hears the freezer opening and sees the serving bowls appearing, he knows what’s up ... they’re having ice cream. And ice cream and whipped cream go hand in hand. So he positions himself in the kitchen and waits.

He never has to wait long. As soon as the serving bowls are filled with ice cream and fruit, mom puts some whipped cream on her bowl and he's getting a plate with his portion. Judging by the look on his face it's his piece of heaven.

What’s more, Charlie, Charlotte, Gabriel nor myself fancy whipped cream, so he has the whole plate to himself. By the time he's through with it, the plate is so clean, you can’t even tell there was something on it. And then he sits there licking his lips, over and over and over again. Some say that all that cream will go to his hips, but I don't think he's got anything to worry about. He looks pretty lean to me.

We all have our own little preferences.

Charlie likes Twinkies. When the humans have coffee, and they have Twinkies, he makes sure he’s there to get his share.

Charlotte likes treats. Actually, the word ‘likes’ is a bit of an understatement, she LOVES treats. Wherever she is, whatever she’s doing, when she hears the rattling of the treats bag, she goes storming for the kitchen. Literally, that girl would go over corpses.

Gabriel and I ... I don’t think we have a preference for anything. I’ve never seen him getting excited over food and neither have I. Now a fake mouse, that’s another thing, but that’s a subject for tomorrow.

Got to go. It's almost midnight and way past my bedtime. Catch you all tomorrow.

Friday, July 22, 2011

He looks all innocent and dignified, doesn't he? Don't be fooled, Mickey is far from innocent and he caused quite a commotion today with something very undignified.

I’ve long suspected that there was something different about Mickey. People call black and white cats tuxedo cats, but I’ve always been of the opinion that they are hybrids, a cross between a cat and a skunk. Today this suspicion was confirmed.

You probably all know that cats like boxes and paper bags. Humans often buy toys for cats, only to find that kitty cat is more interested in the box the toy came in than in the toy itself.
The same goes for paper bags, they have a magnetic effect on cat.

So today, Dieter (a human who walks around here) come home with a paper bag and got the bright idea of putting Mickey into it.
Mickey had other ideas and didn’t take too kindly to being picked up with the intention of being stuffed inside that bag. He struggled a bit and when he couldn’t get away he came up with plan B ... he did like one of his ancestors and farted.

His backdoor draft had immediate effect. Dieter let Mickey go and fanned his nose to get rid of the smell. That wasn’t all though, when he smelled his T-shirt he had to go and change and when he smelled his arms and hands they had to be washed.

As if that wasn’t enough, the whole area where Mickey had performed his escape maneuver stank up to high heaven. Cats and humans alike could go near that place anymore. The smell took anyone’s breath away.

So you see, the notion of a black and white cat being the offspring of a cat and a skunk isn’t that farfetched. Can someone hand me a bottle of Febreze?

Thursday, July 21, 2011

We have a new addition to the family. Actually, three new additions. I swear, I’ll never understand humans. Get this ...

One fine day, some seven years ago, mom came home with a little fish and a little blue plastic tank. “Hi Chanel,” she said, “Come over here and meet Blub.”
I took one look at the darn thing and I thought ‘Ah ah, that thing looks creepy.’

I know what you’re thinking ... a cat scared of a fish, but hey, we all have our little quirks. Some people are afraid of spiders, some of mice, I’m afraid of fish. They’re so slippery and slimy, they look at you sideways and their mouth constantly opens and closes ... eeeeuh (this is me shuddering), they give me the creeps.

So anyway, the months passed, Blub grew and before long his little blue tank became too small. So what did mom do? Instead of flushing the thing down the toilet, she went and bought a bigger tank. A year later tank number two was too small and now she really pulled out all the stops and got Blub a really big tank. I mean it was huge and it had everything: a castle, a tree, flowers and some shrubbery, the works.

Not only that, now that Blub lived in this really big tank, she got him a mate. They called him Spot. Probably because fish number two had a dark patch right in the middle of his head.

The years passed. Blub and Spot swam happily in their tank until one day Blub swam no more. He was found floating one morning, indicating that he had moved on to a bigger and better ‘ocean’.

Great, I thought, one down, one to go. Spot wasn’t happy being all on his own, even I could see that. He ‘sat’ in his little corner of the tank, not doing much of anything. It wouldn’t be long before he too departed to that bigger ‘ocean’. I couldn’t wait.

And what did mom do? Instead of helping things along and making fish and chips one day, she arranged for company for Spot. Not one fish, but three of them.

I admit, the new additions are tiny, barely the size of one of my claws, but if memory serves me correctly, those tiny things are gonna grow.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

My earliest memory is of an animal shelter where I was adopted when I was six weeks old.
I actually didn’t think that I would get adopted, because I was the ugliest kitten in the shelter. I’m not kidding, I was a scruffy little thing, but I found someone who likes scruffy kittens.

Well, you can read all about my adoption and early life in a book called ‘Kitten Diaries’, which my mom wrote. My adoption mom. It’s an www.amazon.com , costs only $8,00 and proceeds go to an animal shelter.
But enough of me, let me introduce you to my brothers and sister.

This is Charlie.

Charlie is 14 years old and a big log of a cat. He gets along with anybody and everybody and wouldn’t hurt a fly. He spends most of his time napping, but don’t get me wrong, there’s still life in the old geezer.

Next up, Charlotte

Charlotte is 4 years old a bit of a weird girl. She sleeps in weird places, drinks from the faucet and her preferred toys are aluminum foils balls. You can present her with a store bought toy and she won’t even look at it. Give her an aluminum foil ball though and she plays with it for hours. Or at least until she kicks her ball under one of a chairs.

Next, Mickey

Mickey is 4 years old and hails from Belgium. Mom went over there three years ago for the funeral of her mother and came back with a cat. Mickey quickly adjusted and now he’s one of us. He’s the talker of the family. I’m not kidding, he makes all kinds of weird noises and when someone says something to him, he answers.

Finally, there’s Gabriel.

Gabriel, or as I call him ‘the terrorist’, will soon be 3 years old. Honestly that cat is a nightmare. He has it in for me. Whenever he sees me, he gets that weird look in his eyes and he flattens his ears. Sometimes all he does is looking, but sometimes he jumps on me. I don’t know what that cats’ problem is.

So there you have it. That my family. I hope you will follow me because lots of things happen around here and I will be introducing some of my friends. Stories, photos, videos, you'll all find it here at Feline Corner.